


The Lost Childhood

by HunterWhoLived67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Other, Weechesters, young Sam and Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterWhoLived67/pseuds/HunterWhoLived67
Summary: Most four-year-olds spend Christmas Eve night eagerly waiting for Santa to arrive, but not Dean Winchester. It's been almost two months his Mother's death, and with Christmas just around the corner, Dean is hit with some news that changes everything.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	The Lost Childhood

It was December 24th, 1983, and a four year old Dean Winchester was sat in the window of a cheap motel room. His hand rested on the pane of glass, which was now covered in a thin layer of frost. There was a cold breeze coming through a gap at the bottom of the window, but Dean didn’t care. In fact, he was filled with excitement as he eagerly waited for Santa to arrive.

His baby brother, Sammy, was having a nap on the bed after having recently eaten dinner, which only consisted of cheap baby food that John had bought from a gas station down the street. 

John, who had previously been busy packing some weapons into a duffel bag, turned to his eldest son, 

“Dean, come here. I need to talk to you.”

Despite having heard his Father, Dean remained at the window. He didn’t want to move in case he missed something.

“Dean, I won’t call you again.” John spoke sternly, and it was at that moment that Dean knew there would be consequences if he were to ignore John again. 

He climbed down from the window sill and made his way over to his Father. 

“Listen, I’ve got a job so I’m gonna have to leave. Pastor Jim will be over in the morning to pick you boys up.” John explained as he slipped his arms into his brown leather jacket. It was cold outside, so he needed it.

“But what about Christmas?” Dean asked, 

John ignored his son’s question, “I’ll be back in a couple of days. Listen, if anyone calls, don’t pick up.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, “Why not? What if it’s Uncle Bobby?”

“Just do as I say.” John snapped.

Dean simply nodded. 

“Good. Now listen, if I call then I’ll ring once, then call back. Also, I’m gonna need you to salt the doors, the windows, and close the shades at night. Do you understand?” 

“But what if I want to look for Santa?”

“Santa doesn’t matter right now,” John spoke, his body angled away from his oldest son as he packed a rifle into his duffel bag. 

“But Mom used to say-”

“Forget about what Mom used to say!” John snapped, as he quickly turned to face Dean, “Santa isn’t real!”

With this, Dean felt his heart break into two pieces. His throat felt tight and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Christmas had been the happiest of times for young Dean. From decorating the Christmas tree to looking out the window on Christmas Eve to see if he could spot Santa’s sleigh in the sky. He didn’t know any different. In fact, he took it for granted, as any other child would. He believed that life would always be that way. So, why would it be any different?

Dean quickly snapped out of his trance when he heard his Father say, “Okay, one last thing. I need you to watch out for Sammy. That’s most important.” John stated, “Now, do you understand everything I said?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice cracked when he spoke. 

John crossed his arms and gave Dean a stern look that appeared quite intimidating, “Dean, this is serious. Sammy’s life is in your hands. You can’t afford to mess up. So, we’ll try that again. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded, “Yes Sir.” 

As John turned away to pick his duffle bag, a single tear escaped Dean’s eye and rolled down his cheek. He then watched his Father leave the motel room. 

Dean took a deep breath as he tried and failed to control his emotions. It was then that everything caught up with him. Losing his Mother, his Father not being around for Christmas, and now finding out about Santa not being real. It was all too much for the young boy.

He threw himself onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow. He found it difficult to breathe through gut-wrenching sobs, and tears raced down his face, creating a damp spot on the pillow. Even after everything, Dean was still a child. A child who longed for his Mother’s warm, comforting embrace, and her delicious home cooking (which wasn’t home cooking at all). A child who built a snowman with his Mother, and left out milk and cookies for Santa. A child who never slept on Christmas Eve because of the excitement of Christmas. But now, things were different. Now, Dean had responsibilities. He knew the truth. Not only about Santa Claus, but about monsters too. Despite this, however, he was still a four year old child. A four year old child who was about to grow up too fast.

Dean had managed to somewhat calm himself down; however, he found it difficult to stop crying. That was until a sound from the other bed caught his attention. He removed his head from the pillow. His eyes were now red and puffy, and his cheeks were damp. He looked over at the other bed where he saw baby Sam looking distressed, having just recently woken up. Sam’s eyes began to fill with tears, but the second he saw Dean, he reached his arms out to his big brother. He couldn’t talk, but he didn’t have to. Dean already knew what he wanted. 

Dean wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks before he stood up and made his way over to Sam. He climbed onto Sam’s bed and took the baby boy into his arms, “Hey Sammy. You’re okay.” Dean spoke softly as he lay down on the bed, and pulled Sam into a protective embrace. If there was anything that could comfort Dean, it was his baby brother. 

It was at this moment that Dean swore to himself that he would protect Sam. He wanted to be someone who his younger brother could look up to, or go to when he was upset. He wanted to give his brother the best childhood he could have. The childhood that Dean once had. A childhood that seemed to disappear the night his mother died.


End file.
